Wolves of Propwash
by RushandStreak
Summary: When the apocalypse of the Planes and Cars universe strikes, there is more than enough trouble that goes around. But everything spirals downward when every vehicle still alive is turned into a creature that nobody can name... nobody knows how it had happened, but sometimes the most unlikely suspects can be the most incredible heros.
1. Prologue

Like the ominous beating of war drums, thunder rolled in the distance. Thick, dark clouds billowed above the horizon, cutting off all view of the sky, all paths to the world they called home. Lightning split the sky, flames spewing from the mouth of the storm. Like fireworks on the 4th of July, sparks flew up where lightning hit rock, the specks of flame scattering across the vast cornfields, setting them on fire.

The earth shook, groaning as if in too much pain to bare, twisting and turning. The ground cracked, showering the buildings still standing with dirt and ashes. Nothing seemed to be right… chaos was erupting, and ending, as fast as it had all happened.

For a few moments, everything stood still, only to be rattled once more with disaster. But in those moments you could hear so much. There was no sound of the earth, no rain, no thunder. Only the distant whooshing of flames cut through the other noises. Screams of pain, of fear, of death all cut through the air, almost making the air churn with their sounds.

They watched as it happened, shaken to their core, fearing for their lives. They all understood that this may in fact be their last moments, and all they hoped was that it would be finished shortly.

The room they stayed in was dark, only lit by a lantern, tossing and turning as the very core of the earth swayed. They slid against each other, wings, tails, and propellers hitting each other as they tried to stay on their wheels. A few sparks flew here and there, as the sounds of metal against metal rippled through the air, adding to the discord of the moment.

Everyone was terrified.

The world continued to tremble for a few engine stopping moments, when all stopped.

Nothing but silence could be heard. It was so quiet, it was deafening. It was so incredibly quiet that everyone had taken to holding their breaths. Not a sound broke through the barrier of thick soundless noise.

And then he sighed. The plane went by the name of Dusty Crophopper, a former crop duster, a racer, and, recently, a certified firefighter. He, along with three other vehicles, Dottie, Chug, and the Skipper, were in a bomb shelter, built in World War II.

They wouldn't have been alive otherwise.

It had been Skipper, an old F4U Corsair, that first mentioned the shelter. It had been made when the paranoid vehicles of the US dug up shelters wherever they could in case a bombing happened. It was unlikely they'd ever be used, but now…

Now, in the terrible turn of events, these quakes were common. Most all electricity had been destroyed, and very few vehicles still survived. Everyone's days seemed numbered.

"Hey, uh, Skip," Dusty's trembling voice, asked, "Do you think it's safe to go out again?"

Skipper turned around, his bright blue eyes filled with a fear like none had seen before. Nobody would have thought that the Corsair could be afraid of much anything, yet, like the earth itself that day, Skipper was shaken to his core. "I- I think so," he stuttered. Burns, where paint had bubbled and blistered away, were present on his right wing and nose as he turned. They had been seared into him when he had tried to go save the town's firetruck, Mayday. He'd been unsuccessful, finding Mayday dead, killed by the flames that had burnt his station.

And as the Corsair turned, you could see that his tail wasn't in the best of shapes. The war veteran had done more than his share in trying to save the other members of Propwash Junction's community. So far, for all they knew now, they were the only ones left.

The two planes, fuel truck, and forklift all made their way up the bomb shelter's ramp. Skipper, of course, insisted he go first to see if it were safe.

He threw the door open by extending one wing, allowing dust to explode from where the entrance was. It made Dusty, allergic to dust, ironically, to be thrown into a sneezing attack. Skipper ignored the plane behind him for the time being, scanning the horizon for danger.

All he saw was the countryside, torn by cracks that zig-zagged across the earth. Dust and ash was thick in the air, coating everything, and debris was still settling from the fire and the quake.

The destruction shocked Skipper, so that he just stood there, dumbfounded. "It's okay to come out," he said softly. "But you're not going to like what you see."

The Skipper rolled out, followed by Dusty, Dottie, and Chug. They took in their surroundings with complete shock. They couldn't even begin to understand what they were seeing.

Their home was in ruins, destroyed beyond recognition. The few buildings that still stood weren't what they used to be. There were long streaks of ash across their sides, or wisps of flames still flickered among the debris. Nobody could speak for many long minutes as they took in what had once been Propwash Junction.

"We have to search for survivors," Skipper said, his voice worn and slightly scratchy. "Come on."

Chug, who had once thought that being in an apocalypse would be _awesome_, now thought differently. This was horrifying, and, frankly, painful. He and the others began to stroll through the wreckage, checking for life other than themselves.

They found none. Not until they reached the scarred remnants of the Fill N' Fly did they see him. He was an old biplane, beat up from nose to tail with dents and scratches. He almost seemed to be falling apart, rusting in more places than one. For a moment, they thought he was dead, long gone like all the others.

But he opened his eyes, bouncing up as if there wasn't a care in the world. His tail gear was slightly bent, so he stumbled slightly, but was quick to recover. "Dusty! How ya doin'? Where've you been? Not racing, that I know. Ya know, you should really, really help me replant these fields. We could rebuild the town in no time! You're the best plane at dustin' crops I know."

Dusty grimaced, loathing the biplane. "Leadbottom, the entire town's dead, and that's all you think about?"

Leadbottom had yet to be phased, "What, too soon? C'mon, Dusty, ya gotta put the past behind ya."

The crop duster nearly exploded, "Leadbottom! It's the end of the world, the town is destroyed, who knows how long any of us have left, and all you can think about is dusting crops? Seriously! There's more to life that that!"

Skipper stepped in, "Dusty's right. Leadbottom, there's more right now than just dusting crops."

The biplane averted his eyes, still into his idea, but not wanting to admit it. "Okay then," he said.

A few moments of silence ensued, slight anger vibrating through the air, still thick with smoke and ash, making it harder to breath. But the silence was cut off by a clap of thunder. It made everything rattle, so loud that the vehicles were dazed for a second.

Lightning crackled above them, making their engines run faster in the electrical current. Dottie screamed something about going back to the bomb shelter, but nobody could hear her. The sudden storm was too loud.

The storm clouds billowed and swirled into one giant mass, and electricity flickered in between the clouds, massing in the middle like a giant death ray. In a streak of electrical power, the lightning surged towards them. There was nothing of the feeling of being electrocuted, making their engines run full speed. There was only the feeling of pain, and the sharp bright sword of light, swallowing their consciousness into darkness.


	2. Chapter 1: Clear World

**I thank you who have read and reviewed. I've been meaning to write this story a LONG time ago, so enjoy. :)**

**MovieGirl44~ Well, you get to find out here. Yep, Leadbottom will be Leadbottom. XD**

**BlackNightmareDragon~ Is this soon enough? I hope so... :P Yep, you'll find that reference in most of my stories now, just because I can. I've even incorporated it into some of my roleplays.**

* * *

He groaned, opening his crystal blue eyes painfully. Everything was blurry, and his head throbbed as if he had been hit with a boulder. He didn't feel well, and his tank ached tremendously. Everything he could move hurt.

The creature blinked, shifting slightly so he was looking right side up, rather than sideways. This caused thumping pain to flare in his head, but he ignored it for the time being. The blurred lines of his surroundings cleared and he took in his surroundings.

With a gasp, he realized that there was no destruction here. Hills scrolled across the horizon, meadows reaching as far as he could see. In the distance, he saw what he knew to be mountains, trying to reach the sky with their rocky points.

The smell, too, was different. More vibrant in odor, more crisp and sharp. It smelt of summer wind, grass, and trees, of crisp, cold streams, and something… something he didn't know what it was. But he didn't care. He struggled to raise himself higher on his landing gear, only to find himself fallen over.

Thinking that he must have injured himself in the storm, he looked down. There was an audible yelp. His yelp. But it was not with his voice. It had a slightly different tone, a rougher tone to it.

A voice sounded behind him, "Dusty, is that you?" It sounded like the Skipper's, but it, too, was lower with a rolling growl like distant thunder in spring behind it. Dusty turned, stiff, to find that he was staring at a creature laying in the grass.

"Sk-skipper?" Dusty asked, "Where are you?"

The creature shifted, turning its boxy head to stare into Dusty's eyes. They were a blue like that of the Pacific ocean on a calm day, like those eyes of Skipper. "Dusty, it's me."

Dusty shook his head disbelievingly, "Skipper. No, but… what happened. Where are you?"

Then the creature struggled to get up on long tubes coming from its body. They bent in, like landing gear, but were longer and ended in what seemed to be flat tires. Fabric like threads hung down from it at all angles, longer at the angles of its landing gear like features. It was a dark navy blue, fading to a lighter grey on its belly and part of its face. Two triangles, which were pricked upwards and to attention, stood atop its head. They were black as death, and tipped in yellow. Three of its four flat tire things were also black.

The creature stumbled getting up, but soon stood, full height, towering over Dusty. "Dusty," the creature spoke, "I'm right here."

Dusty slowly tried to get up too, trying to extend his landing gear. He succeeded in standing. "But…"

The animal was shaking slightly, and sat down. "It's okay, it's me, Skipper."

It was then that Dusty looked down, feeling himself begin to shake slightly from standing. Just as the creature in front of him, he had two long white, and flexible tubes sticking out of him, each ending in something that looked like a flat, black tire. There was little silvery wisps on the ends of them, along with small but sharp looking claws. He fell out of shock. "Sk-Skipper?"

"Now," Skipper instructed, holding out one of his flat tires oddly, "Don't panic, but yes, you and I are… different. We're not planes anymore."

They both heard a voice and turned to see another one of the creatures laying there. "Whatever you do! Don't eat me! I'm not to your liking!" It sounded like Chug, and its colors matched too. It was a darker forest green with yellow blanketing his back, three brown stripes going down each side, and a black tire thing coming out from each of the four tubes sticking out of its body. The creature was trembling in complete fear.

Despite his predicament, Dusty laughed. "Chug, Chug, it's okay. It's me and Skip." He, too, was this kind of creature. His pattern was like that of his former self, a white undercoat blanketed in orange with a stripe of blue down each flank.

The creature that sounded and looked like Chug stopped trembling for a moment. "Uh… Dusty and Skipper aren't monsters with sharp, pointy teeth."

"No, Chug," Dusty said, trying to take a step in this new form, "We are monsters… well, not monsters. We're… these things though." He sat down and shook out his coat.

That was when they heard yet another two voices. One was Dottie, that anybody could tell, and the other was Leadbottom. "Get off of me, you big oaf," Dottie's voice said in something like a muffled snarl.

Leadbottom, a grey creature with two stripes of yellow down each shoulder, stood up. Underneath him was a light blue one of the same creature, but she was much smaller. "Sorry there, uh…" Leadbottom looked down and wrinkled his nose, "Who _are_ you?"

Dottie got up, slipping awkwardly, as well as shakily, out from under Leadbottom. "You should know who I am. I'm Dottie."

"Dottie?" Dusty said, his voice coming out more of a bark, "And Leadbottom?"

Both creatures turned their heads, but only Leadbottom showed any sign of recognition. "Hey there Dusty! Say, what even _are_ you?"

"I don't know," Dusty said, shrugging. He turned as Chug slowly got up and into the view of everyone else.

Dottie looked confused, and frightened, "D-Dusty?" She lay down, cowering in fear. "Where are you?"

Dusty waved, "I'm over here. One of these… creature things. The orange and white one. He's Skipper," he pointed to Skipper, "And that's Chug and Leadbottom."

The smaller creature shifted, standing back up, shaking as she had not gotten used to her new form. "Are you sure?"

Everyone nodded. The creatures were sitting in an odd circle in the grass, odd flag like banners streaking out behind them. They, to the once-planes, at least, looked like tails, and so they called them that.

Everyone was scared, except Leadbottom, who seemed not to have any common sense, and pricking the triangles on top of their heads to every noise. But there was one noise in particular that everyone heard and trembled at.

It was an eerie howl, curling through the air like the sound of a ghost. It shrieked a warning, making the longer fabric-like strands on their backs stand up. The sound continued for several long minutes, carried on by different voices as well as the wind.

And then came the smell, the smell of anger, of sharp scents that stung your nose. It held with it the base smell of the place, along with the base scent of the creatures that had-been-vehicles turned in to. The more detailed sounds were next to be captured: panting breath, the beating of many as they ran across the ground, the whoosh of air as they cut through the wind.

A pack of seven large creatures, much like those sitting there now, came up the hill. They split up, their movements almost perfectly in sync with each other. Dusty, Skipper, and the others were surrounded.

Stepping out of the circle of his pack, an enormous white creature with scars searing his face snarled. His teeth, shining and glinting in the sun, showed in a menacing demeanor. "You have crossed into the territory of Synth. State why you are here."

Skipper got up and stepped up so that he was nose to nose with the leader of the group. "You leave them alone."

The creature flicked the triangles on his head and two others stepped out, growling on either side of Skipper. "You challenge Synth, leader here?" he laughed, a deep laugh from the back of his throat, "You challenge _me_?"

Skipper held his ground, laying back the triangular flaps on his head, "As long as you do not hurt them." He, too, bared his teeth. "Stay back from them."

Synth just laughed harder, "Get them. Take them down. Throw them in front of the alpha of all territories!" With a snap of his massive jaws, Synth grabbed Skipper's nose and pushed him over. The World War II veteran fought back, but in his new body he fell. The white creature, who could very well be called a monster, held him down.

The six other creatures moved forward, pouncing onto the members of Propwash Junction with ease. None of them could react in time, and even if they had, they wouldn't have been worthy enemies of the pack. They were half dragged, half lead, to a grove of trees further than they had been able to see on the hill. They were sore by the time they arrived to the pack's camp.

The trees cast dark shadows across the forest floor, and in those shadows eyes peered out. Some of them with curiosity, others with scorn and hatred. The eyes were all the same, all shining with eerie light, all were different but the same in their basic shape and color. Most of the eyes were a deep, almost black, but there were shades of blue and green as well.

Synth and his group took them into a cave strewn with animal pelts like the kind none of the gang from Propwash had ever seen, along with moss, leaves, and bones. It was a deep, tall cave that made everyone seem small inside it.

Above them, spikes of stone hung like weapons ready to fall, and meeting up with some of them, spikes rose from the ground. Other stone structures rose and fell from the ceiling and floors, creating ledges and outcroppings on which more creatures laid, sat, and talked upon. They casted the new creatures curious glances before continuing on with their normal lives.

The big, white creature heading the group paraded on, every step he took echoing through the cave. After a long walk, passing natural springs and pools in the cave as well, they came to a stop in front of a large boulder. On top of the boulder, stood a shaggy, black creature. His eyes were the oddest color amber, almost like that of fire. Scars rippled down his back and up on of his long tube like structures. He jumped down, landing with an audible click as claws hit stone.

"Well, Synth," he said. His voice was scratchier than that of Synth and deeper than that of Skipper's, "What did you bring?" He passed his eyes over the multi colored wolves with scorn. "What kind of wolves even are they?"

"We do not know sir," Synth answered. "We found them on Cataract Hill. Trespassers of some sort."

The black creature growled, "Trespassers can be punished with the harshest of treatments if they are to be found truly guilty." He walked up to Skipper, who stood tall despite the situation. Blood had dribbled down his nose, where Synth had bit it. The black creature stared hard and cold into the blue one's eyes, presenting a challenge. "Are you the leader of these rogues?"

Skipper did not answer, just stiffening. Synth shoved him hard so that he toppled onto the stone floor. He yelped slightly, but tried to get back up, only to be held down by the black creature. "You are not to disrespect me, wolf!" Then he got off of Skipper, still eyeing him.

Synth shook himself, snarling, "Answer the alpha's question!"

Skipper looked defiant but muttered, "If you want to say it, then let it be so."

"So you are then?" the black, scarred creature said, walking around him. "And why is your tiny, pathetic pack here?"

"We came not by choice," Skipper answered, "We come from a different world. One where your kind doesn't exist. We were, let's say, zapped here."

The alpha of the pack roared in laughter, "A different world!" Several other wolves joined him. "Well, _alpha_, " he said the world with such scorn that it came out more of a snarl than anything, "You are under my power now. You are in my territory. Submit to me or run, run far from here. There is only one alpha here."

Dottie, Chug, and Dusty were by now cowering from the alpha. Only Skipper stood up to the black alpha. As for Leadbottom, he stood there unphased and wagging his tail slowly, clueless as to what was happening. For a few tense moments, Skipper and the alpha glared at each other. Skipper then lowered his tail slightly and nodded, "We submit. We are not here to make enemies."

The black creature seemed pleased with that answer. "You are no longer the alpha of this rag tag group of wolves. They are in my control, under my command. You are part of the pack and expected to do your share of work. And while I'm at it, I'd like to ask for your names."

Skipper nodded, still tense, but less so than before. "I am Skipper." The others followed, each introducing themselves. When Leadbottom said his name, the alpha glared.

The black -as they by now had figured out- wolf, shook his head, muttering. "What kind of name is that?"

Dusty himself also had that thought run through his head more than once, and was curious to know the answer. Leadbottom shrugged, "It's what I've always been called. Have a problem with it?"

"You do realize that I could change your name any moment I choose," the black wolf muttered, shaking his head. "I could name you whatever I pleased."

Leadbottom looked all the more clueless, "Okay."

The alpha looked surprised, but quickly shed the expression. He shook his pelt and continued to walk. "Welcome to the territories of the Wilderness," he said, proudly lifting his head in the air. Then he turned to the white wolf. "Synth, send two scouts to take them to where they can stay. I will attend to them tomorrow. Also give them prey, and if they feel in the mood to be shown around, they may."

Synth barked, "Kitsune! Edison!" Two smaller wolves stepped out from the group that had gathered to watch the scene. They came to attention. Synth nodded, "You heard the alpha, show them where they may stay."

With a quick nod from each of them, they came. The female, presumed to be Kitsune, smiled at them and gestured the wolves of Propwash to follow. She was a lovely shade of almost crimson red, the triangles on her head framed in black. Her chest, belly, and the tip of her tail were glistening white, shining in the cave. The other wolf looked just a bit more serious. He was a lighter brown, more of a tan. Darker, chocolate brown framed the tip of the triangles on his head. He was the one that spoke, "Are you coming?"

The wolves of Propwash looked at each other, unsure of whether to follow, when Leadbottom got up and met the two wolves. "C'mon, Dusty, maybe they'll have some crops we can dust."

Dusty rolled his eyes, but followed. There was no way that anybody, especially not him, was going to be able to dust crops. Not as wolves, anyways. Either way, he followed, the others getting up behind him.

Edison and Kitsune took them out of the cave, out into the breeze where the light from above turned a golden color through the leaves of the trees. Out there, butterflies fluttered and birds chirped. The wilderness was far different than the wilderness the had-been-vehicles knew back home. This place was so much fresher, so much more clean and clear. It was as if they had lived in a world tinted by their own existence, while here went untouched by anything but nature.

The Edison spoke. "How did you come across your marvelous colors? Did you manage to find berries so strong in dye that it tinted your pelts?" He went up to Dottie, who was slightly shorter than him, and looked at her color, "What is this? Your fur is too blue to be anything natural."

Dottie pushed him away slightly, "Skipper told you. We're from another world."

"But that's impossible," Edison countered, "I mean, there isn't the possibility."

Skipper walked over to Edison, standing almost two whole heads higher than him. "We told you the truth, and there is no explanation for our fur coloring."

Kitsune had been watching, her green eyes darting between the wolves as they spoke. "Alright, Edison, that's enough now. We have to show them to their den." Edison sighed, still into finding out why the new wolves had multicolored pelts, but nodded. The entire group moved on further into the forest.


End file.
